Last Man Standing
by JackDante
Summary: Follows on from 'Falls Count Anywhere' Triple H is left lonely on RAW after Batista leaves. However, Triple H isn't the only lonely wrestler around... Triple H & Edge slash! Don't say you weren't warned...
1. Face Lock

(Disclaimer: All WWE names and characters are owned by the WWE, and have absolutely nothing at all to do with this slushy slashy piece of fun.)

(Authoress' Note: This story is intended to be a spin-off sequel of the as-yet unfinished Ortista fic, 'Falls Count Anywhere'. It follows Triple H (and Edge!) after Batista's departure from RAW, and thus refers to things which haven't yet happened in 'Falls Count Anywhere'. Ideally, I would have liked to finish off the whole Ortista fic first before starting to post this, but I wanted towrite a storywhich I could post weekly after each RAW show, and if I waited to finish the other fic first this wouldn't get posted until, say, August, by which point much of the current fun would have been lost.

Anyway, you get the idea. On with the show!)

* * *

As far as Triple H was concerned, RAW just wasn't the same anymore. Ric Flair had abandoned him, Batista had dumped him and eloped to SmackDown! to be with his fancy piece Randy Orton, and if that wasn't bad enough, he'd taken the World Heavyweight Championship title with him. On top of that, he had toothache from drinking too much Kool-Aid, his car had broken down twice in the past two months, and a large groundhog had drowned in his swimming pool.

All in all, it had been a pretty shit year.

Still, at least it was the Royal Rumble tonight; a chance to prove himself, a chance to make the world see that he was just as good as he'd always been. He was Triple H. He was the Game. Of _course_ he was that damn good! He would go out there tonight, and he would _win_; he'd make Batista's success last year seem like little more than a high-school wrestling competition. Maybe that would make the Animal take some notice of him again.

Smoothing down his shirt, he stepped out of the locker room and headed for Vince McMahon's office, already sure that he'd be entering the Royal Rumble at number thirty.

* * *

"Rey Mysterio? _Rey fucking Mysterio_?" Some of the smaller superstars scurried out of Triple H's way as he stormed through the corridors towards his dressing room, the floor practically shaking with every step of his boots. Several hours had passed since he'd drawn his Royal Rumble entry number – at first, he'd been furious that he'd picked number one, but as the match had progressed it had seemed that he'd claw back the win after all. In an extraordinary turn of events, he'd even been able to put aside past differences and team up with Randy Orton to try and eliminate Rey, but that had proved sadly futile in the end. "Rey Mysterio! I'll fucking _kill_ him if I ever get my hands on him, that crazy little piece of Latino meat!"

He trudged on through the concrete corridors, sending backstage staff and interviewers alike diving for cover; it was only when he heard a series of furious screams that he paused to pay any attention to what was going on around him, and out of the corner of his eye glimpsed several pieces of furniture go flying past. Now curious, he followed the sound to discover the source of the destruction - only to round a corner and find Edge, the recent WWE Champion, hurling a plastic chair against a pile of crates.

"Having a bad night too, huh?" Triple H found his fury dwindling as he watched Edge taking out his rage on the poor defenceless chair. In fact, after his humiliating loss, it made the whole night seem rather comical. "For what it's worth, Edge, I reckon you should have kept that title belt. It gave you something that your crotch could be proud of."

"_Fuck_ you! Of _course _I should have won the damn match!" Edge snarled, tangling his fingers in his ragged hair. "I won that belt at New Year's Revolution fair and square! It's_ mine_! I bided my time, I cashed in my title shot, I worked my butt off to win the damn thing and then that ass-wipe Cena had to be a whiny little bitch and go and challenge me for it again! I've got every fucking _right _to be pissed off! Now why don't you just go away and let me have some time to myself!"

"Hey, there's no need for that kind of attitude." Triple H gave the feral wrestler a moment to calm down a little, then moved closer and clamped a hand down firmly on Edge's shoulder, his voice taking on a more fatherly tone. "You think I don't know how angry you're feeling right now? I lost the World Heavyweight title two years in a row to a couple of guys who've done nothing but fuck me around ever since – of course you're angry! I'm just saying there's no need to take it all out on me."

"And what the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?" Edge sprang on the defensive, his nostrils flaring, his teeth bared. "You're a fucking _queer,_ Triple H! Stop touching me, you ass-licking fudge-packer!"

"Ass-licking fudge-packer?" Triple H chuckled to himself. "That's a new one, Edge. _Real_ nice. But I'm guessing there's more to your mood than a simple belt. Lita not giving you any?"

"You shut up about Lita!"

"Close to the mark, huh?"

"I thought I told you to shut up!"

"That's your problem, Edge; sometimes, you just need to chill out."

"_You're_ telling _me_ to chill out?"

"Why, yes. Yes, I am."

"You would tell me to chill out, Trips! You're a good-for-nothing, arrogant fucking son-of-a-bitch! If you tell me to calm down or chill out one more fucking time, I swear I'm gonna…"

But Edge never got to finish his sentence. Before he knew what was happening, he was being pulled closer towards Triple H, the larger wrestler's lips pressing hard against his own; their tongues met, their fingers sliding instinctively over each others' necks to entwine themselves in tousled hair, touching, grabbing, pulling…

"_Get the fuck off of me_!" Edge spluttered, suddenly stiffening and pulling away, his cheeks flushing in anger and embarrassment. Roughly, he shoved Triple H away from him, snarling his hatred. "What the hell was _that_ for? You get off on forcing other men to kiss you, huh? Is that why your precious little stable broke up? Ric Flair didn't want to get freaky with you, yeah? Everyone knows about your sordid little affairs with Batista and Randy Orton…"

"So me and Dave were happy enough with ourselves to be honest – big fucking deal. And, for the record, there was never anything going on between me and Randy Orton. That little jerk was always far too arrogant for me." The Game grinned and smoothed back his damp hair. "As for you and me - you really think I don't know what's going on, Edge? You really think you can keep your true feelings to yourself? Oh _please_! I spent two whole years with Dave and Randy fawning all over each other while I tried to hide behind my anger, tried to deny what I felt for Batista!"

"What are you trying to say?"

"What I'm saying, Edge, is that your bad mood has been getting worse and worse lately – and it's got nothing to do with this title belt, with your feud with Cena. The truth is – and I'm telling you this because you've been denying it to everyone, most of all yourself – you want me, Edge. You _want_ me."

"I _want_ you? Don't give me that gay bullshit!"

"Don't deny it. That's why you wanted me on your side in the tag match the other week, isn't it? That's why you've been so frustrated. It's about damn time you just grew up and admitted it."

"_Fuck_ you, Triple H!"

"And you would, given half a chance." The Game laughed again, knowing full well that he was right. It was strange; now that his rage had subsided, after tonight's Royal Rumble match, when he'd teamed up with Randy to fight Rey Mysterio, it was if he'd achieved some kind of inner peace. In allying himself with his former rival, he'd laid to rest some of the demons which had plagued him since splitting up with Batista. Only now could he see how much he'd matured in a mere few months. In Edge, he could see himself a year or two ago – the hot-headed impetuous man unable to admit to himself his true emotions, so torn up inside that all he could feel was anger and sorrow. "You want me, Edge, but that's alright. Did you think I was gonna get mad at you or something?"

"Oh, that's just _great_. So… what _now_, big man? You wanna go tell Lita, huh? You wanna humiliate me in front of the whole locker room? Go ahead. I lost a title belt tonight, I may as well lose my dignity, too."

"I don't need to do that." Triple H gave a reassuring smile. "I think you've got me all wrong here. I'm not out to humiliate you – although, God knows, you probably deserve it for all the shit you put me and Evolution through a year or two back. No, Edge, what it comes down to is this; I'm lonely. Pure and simple."

"Lonely?" Edge choked back a laugh. "The mighty Game is lonely? Don't make me piss myself laughing, Trips! You're the king of the mountain, the cream of the crop. You're the top of the fucking food chain around here. You could get whatever you wanted – whoever you wanted, even. Trish Stratus, Mickie James, Candice… why aren't you out chasing their asses instead of hanging around here talking to me?"

"Maybe they don't have what I want."

"So what exactly _do_ you want?"

"What do _you_ think?" Triple H cocked his head to one side and sighed. "You seem to know so much about me and the way I work. You tell me what I want."

"Batista."

"Got it in one." The Game nodded, then shrugged. "But he's not here now, and I doubt he ever will be again – so, until then, I guess I'll have to make do with whatever I can get my hands on."

_"Me?"_

"Hell, why not? Maybe you need a change of attitude sometimes, but all in all, I guess you're not so bad. Just give me a call if Lita ever gets too much, alright?"

"What the...?" Edge just gaped at the larger man, his mouth opening and closing as if he were struggling to find the right words to say. What the hell _could_ you say if one of the biggest names in the WWE just calmly walked over and tongued you - and pretty damn well, too?

"You and me, Edge. Just you and me. Think about it."

And with those words, the Game walked off laughing, leaving Edge with one hell of a headache.


	2. Headlock

"What the _hell_ did you think you were doing?" Edge growled, his hands planted firmly on his hips as he glared at Lita. The two of them had been arguing in their locker room; towels and shirts were strewn across the room, evidence of their tempestuous quarrel. "An accidental hit with the belt the other week – that I can accept, seeing as it didn't cost us too much. But _twice_? Do you think I'm _dumb_? Even _you're _not clumsy enough toscrew up our matchestwo weeks in a row! Just what, exactly, do you think you're playing at?"

"I already _told_ you, Edge!"the female wrestlerprotested, her hands held up in a gesture of exasperation. "I made a mistake, okay? I never meant to hurt you like that! Why would I even want to?"

"Maybe you've decided that you prefer Cena to me."

"Now you're just being paranoid! John Cena is nothing but a washed-up athlete who thinks he can rap – and besides, he's head-over-heels about that bitch Maria..."

"Who gives a crap about Maria?"

"_I _do, if she's getting in the way and messing up your chance to get that belt back! Why are you being so angry with me? Why is this bothering you so much?"

"You screwed Matt Hardy over, Lita– who's to say you won't do the same to me? You've been so distant lately!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Lita rolled her eyes and threw up her hands in frustration. "If you keep on talking to me like that, of _course_ you're going to push me away! Just leave it, alright?"

"No, it's _not_ alright!" Edge raged, his hands balling into fists. "I've been with you long enough to recognise when there's something up! There's something you're not telling me, and I want to know what it is! Tell me what's going on, Lita! Tell me why the hell you're being such a stuck-up, secretive little bitch!"

"Fine. You want a reason for what's been happening for the past few weeks? I'll tell you." Lita took a step back, folding her arms defensively across her chest and tossing her hair defiantly back from her scowling face. "I saw you the other week, Edge. I saw you and Triple H."

_"What?"_

"You heard me. I saw you after the Royal Rumble. I saw the two of youeating each other as ifyour lives depended on it. When, exactly, were you planning on telling me that you'd gone gay?"

"I am _not_ gay!" Edge spluttered, his mouth agape. His cheeks flushed adeeper shade of scarlet, although whether from anger or embarassment, Lita couldn't tell. "I can explain everything, Lita! Just because you saw me and Triple H kissing doesn't mean that I've gone gay or anything! You know what he's like, the way he tried to bend Batista to his will! He was just trying to mess me around, but I told him where to go, so I don't want you thinking we were planning on eloping to Vegas or anything stupid like that..."

"What was I _supposed_ to think?" Lita countered, her lips drawn into a thin line of disapproval. "I don't want you to see Triple H anymore if that kind of stuff happens. If you're going to leave me for another man, I think I should be the first to know."

"I already _told_ you, Lita, that's not what's happening!"

"And _I _already told _you_ that I don't have a thing for Cena, so stop being so fucking paranoid." With a triumphant smirk, she strode towards the door, pausing only to cast a glance behind her at her angry lover. "Now, you can stay here and sulk if you like, but I've got other things to do. Call me when you've cooled down."

Lita closed the door behind her with a deceptively calm 'click', making Edge give another irritated snort andcausing him totug angrily at his messy hair. He wouldn't be surprised if she was off to stare atCena again - shewas interested in Cena becausehe had the belt, he was sure of it. If she wanted to play dirty, he'd make damn sure she wouldn't get away with it; but for now, he hadto run some errands of his own.

* * *

Things were getting a little better for Triple H. He'd won his match against Flair, allowing him to get through to the next round of theRoad To Wrestlemaniatournament, and it amused him to watch the other wrestlers flailing around in an attempt to win a WWE belt for themselves. Maybe one day they'd realise that he, the Game, was infinitely superior to them, and thatany beltwas rightfully his – but until then, he'd teach them a lesson the hard way, and laugh at their mistakes.

There was the issue of Edge, too. If Triple H had his pick of anyone, he'd obviously select Batista to be his lover, but since that dream had long-since flown, he'd have to make do; and as far as making do went,the hairy little bastardwasn't a bad choice. He was relatively good-looking, Triple H supposed; maybe he could do with a haircut, a shave and a manicure, but his physique was near-perfect, and his bold attitude appealed to the Game's sense of cut-throat determination. Besides, now that Triple H had played his opening hand, it was entertaining to watch Edge squirm every time he walked past.

"Triple H." Edge suddenly stepped out from behind a pile of crates, briefly startling the Game and totally derailing his train of thought. "Trips. Hey. Can we – uh – can we talk?"

"Sure, if you need to." The Game smirked and patted Edge patronisingly on the shoulder. "What's up, Fido? Still feeling lonely?"

"Don't give me that crap." Edge immediately stiffened and pulled away. "Besides, I thought you said _you_ were the lonely one around here. And _don't_ call me Fido! Anyway, I didn't come here so you could laugh at me – I need to have a word with you."

"About Lita, right?" The larger wrestler could tell by Edge's nervous stance that this was supposed to be a secret conversation.

"Yes, about Lita. If she knows I'm here talking to you, she'll try and kick my ass." He cast a furtive glance left and right as if checking to see whether they were being watched. "She saw us the other week, Trips! She saw you shoving your tongue down my throat, and now she thinks I'm gay or something!"

"Okay, so she saw more than she should have done." Triple H shrugged. "What do you want _me_ to do about it?"

"How can you stand there so calmly and say that?" Edge shook his head in disbelief. "How can you just stand there and not care that my girlfriend watched us touching each other like a couple of hormonal teenagers?"

"I guess I learned to stop caring what people think about me and my lovers. When the two guys in question are several-hundred-pound wrestling champions, you should know better than to object. I mean, let's face it, we all saw what happened when you tried to mess with Randy and Batista… and with me."

"Okay, maybe that _does_ make a difference." Grudgingly, Edge was forced to agree. "But that's not what matters here. The point is, my girlfriend is _majorly_ pissed at me, and it's _all your fault_!"

With an angry snarl, Edge gave Triple H an almighty shove which sent him staggering backwards into a pile of equipment; he was forced to throw his hands out to steady himself, and in doing so only succeeded in bringing down yet more crates on top of himself. For a brief moment, Edge seemed aghast at what he had done – but with a determined scowl, he threw himself back into the fray, raising his fists to pummel at the Game with all he had to offer.

"It's all _your_ fault, you asshole!" the smaller wrestler sneered. "Lita's going to leave me for that hip-hop hobo because you tried to hump my leg! I hope you're happy, you good-for-nothing piece of shit!"

"Get the hell off of me!" Triple H yelled, thrusting dented crates from his prone body and trying to dislodge Edge from his chest. With another shout, he managed to push the smaller wrestler away and stumble to his feet, staring back at him with a stern glare. "Just listen to yourself, Edge! You're _insane_!"

"_I'm_ insane?" the feral wrestler screamed, charging back towards the Game. "_You're_ the one who thinks you can lord it around the whole of the WWE doing whatever the fuck you want! _You're_ the one who gets off on being a complete man-whore and shagging your way around the whole federation!"

"That is _it_!" the larger wrestler roared, reaching out to grab Edge by the wrists and spinning him around forcefully to face him. "I have had _enough_ of your crazy accusations and your bullshit! Just because you can't be comfortable with yourself doesn't mean you have to keep taking out your sexual frustration on me!"

Edge said nothing, instead just glaring at Triple H with a hateful snarl, his teeth bared. He tugged at the Game's arm as if trying to break away, but the other wrestler proved stronger, refusing to let his opponent escape. They were closer than ever now, the two of them able to feel each others' heartbeats, see their chests rising and falling as their breathing quickened; defiantly, Edge held Triple H's smouldering gaze, daring him to do something, daring him to make a move - but to his surprise, it wasn't the Game that made any indecent advances.

It was _him_.

With a guttural growl, Edge found himself leaning forward, leaning in to the bigger man's body; his lips met warm flesh, pressing themselves against Triple H's neck, nipping and biting at his skin, his tongue flicking out to taste the thin sheen of sweat that had formed there. The Game purred in response, releasing the smaller wrestler's wrists so that his hands could slide down his back and draw him close,capturing the two of them in a tight embrace; in a mere few moments, the two of them became lost in each other, their fingers stroking and touching at bare flesh and loose hair, their mouths locked in a passionate kiss punctuated only by loud moans and murmurs of desire.

Slowly, daringly, one of Edge's hands reached for Triple H's leg, his fingers trembling as they snaked towards his trunks, touching at the sheer material and pausing daringly at the waistband; the larger man gave a grunt of assent, indicating that his companion should go further, that he should risk giving up everything forthis minuteof reckless passion...

"Um... guys?" A female voice cut in, completely destroying the moment. "Have either of you seen Cena?"

_"Maria!"_ Edge and Triple H yelled, pulling themselves apart and both blushing a deep, deep shade of scarlet. It was one thing for Triple H to come to terms with his sexuality, but to get almost get caught - quite literally - with his pants down was enough to make even him feel self-conscious. "What the _hell_? Can't you find him yourself?"

"I was with him, but he went off to get me an ice-cream and I haven't seen him since..."

"Oh, _great_." Edge scowled and glared at the woman. "Look, honey, it's not _my_ fault your man abandoned you - although, frankly, if my girlfriend was as dumb as you, I'd do the same thing. So why don't you just run along and go ask someone else, yeah?"

"O-okay..." Evidently Maria realised she had made a mistake in asking these two men for help, and tottered away with more than a few backward glances.

"So... where were we...?" Triple H grinned, having recovered his composure enough to talk again. "I think we were just getting to the good part..."

"_Forget_ it!" Edge snapped, shoving the larger wrestler away. "As far as I'm concerned, what just happened _never_ happened - or something - so you'll just have to go and play with someone else, alright? I've had _enough_ of you!" He kicked angrily at a dislodged crate and stormed off, his face still burning with shame.

"You've had _enough _of me?" Triple H chuckled to himself as the other man stomped away. "I don't think so. I think your problem is that you haven't had anywhere _near_ enough..."

* * *

Trying to cool himself off with a cold shower, Edge was doing his best to try and sort out all of the warring thoughts which were threatening to take over his mind. What had he been _thinking_ when he'd suddenly leaned forward and kissed Triple H again? He wasn't gay; he knew that for sure, seeing as his heart still skipped a beat every time Lita walked into the room. But, then again, Triple H had had that thing with Stephanie McMahon a few years back, and Randy and Dave had both had girlfriends, too. Maybe he liked both men _and_ women...

Oh, did it really matter? He had Lita and that was what counted. At least, he _hoped_ he still had Lita. It would be just like Maria to track Cena down and tell him everything she'd seen between him and Triple H, and if Cena found that out, there'd be hell to pay. John Cena would be arrogant enough to think he could take on both him and the Game at the same time, which would cause no end of hassle - and if Lita discovered that he'd been messing around with Triple H again, the least he could hope for would be a swift kick in the balls.

And, on top of all that, he _still _didn't have the belt.

God dammit, things really sucked right now.


End file.
